


Trapped in the Lions' Den

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Implied Relationships, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many months after his defeat at Tol Sirion, Sauron again runs into the impetuous Lúthien Tinúviel… this time in Angband. In front of Melkor's throne, no less. He endeavors to teach her a lesson. Melkor can't help but join in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped in the Lions' Den

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for the following prompt at http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2320.html?thread=25425424#t25425424 :  
> "So I'm not sure how it would happen. Maybe Sauron manages to follow Luthien and comes in just as she's about to take the Silmaril? Don't know. Don't care. I just want a creepy, dubcon or noncon threesome. Bonus points if Luthien still manages to get a Silmaril."
> 
> Thanks to OohLaGalion for betaing this fic!

Lúthien Tinúviel had just finished addressing the monster when she heard a loud thud behind her, right about where the entrance was. She felt sick to her stomach, having a very good idea of what had caused that sound. Slowly turning her head, hoping beyond hope that she was wrong, Lúthien realized this was worse than she had imagined.

Beren had indeed been struck down, yet not by a mere orc, as she had thought. Standing over his crumpled form was the very being Huan had defeated not a few seasons ago, now in a human-like form.

Afraid and at a loss for what to do, Lúthien untied her cloak and turned slightly so that both Morgoth and Sauron could see it. With another villain standing behind her, she could not perform the dance; she had no choice but to bet her and Beren's lives on the spell working immediately. But before she could even lift the cloak, Sauron came upon her from behind.

An impossibly strong arm wound around her as that lifeline, that one chance of escaping from this place, was ripped from her hands. Lúthien struggled weakly, but to no avail. Sauron's grip on her was too firm. Reason told her to fight harder—to kick, to scream, to try anything possible. But she was paralyzed with fear. Her mind kept traveling back and forth between Beren, still lying unconscious behind her, and the end awaiting them both.

Another arm clasped itself around her now, cloak lying forgotten on the ground. Sauron pressed himself against her, speaking directly into her ear. "Not so brave now, are we?" His tone frightened her, but what she felt against her back was even more terrifying. Experiencing a quick death was too much to hope for, Lúthien realized.

* * *

 "What should we do with her, my lord?" Mairon asked his master after lesser beings had tied Lúthien's wrists to opposite sides of a large table. (In the past it had often been used to showcase new weapons he had designed, before he'd left to assume rule of Tol Sirion.) The mortal he had knocked out wasn't worthy of receiving his punishment just yet. In the meantime, a spell cast upon him ensured his continued lack of consciousness.

Not saying anything, Melkor just looked at him. The intention was communicated clearly in his eyes. Mairon realized what he was being asked to do, and he smirked. Removing the armor he'd been wearing to reveal a simple tunic and leather leggings, he leaned over their captive.

Mairon gripped Lúthien's waist from behind, and gave a throaty chuckle as she struggled. He stuck out his tongue and slowly licked a trail up to her left ear, leaving a wet stripe of saliva on the side of her neck.

"What a tasty little wench," he murmured.

With one deft movement, he tore off the bottom portion of her dress, revealing luminous, creamy skin. Mairon thought of its stark contrast to the darkness of the grand fortress. Letting the fabric drop unceremoniously to the stone floor beneath them, he started kneading the swell of the body that was exposed so crudely before him, simply begging to be used. Lúthien had tried to jerk free of his grasp, yet she was caught firmly between him and the thick edge of the table. He unlaced his leggings and took himself in hand, already hard.

Meanwhile, Melkor sat watching the unfolding scene. He appeared relaxed and motionless while seated upon his impressive throne. Yet his eyes told a different story. The raw hunger and envy in them would reveal to any keen observer his desire to be in his lieutenant's place, dominating the assertive she-elf and showing her first-hand the true might of his form. Lúthien was sobbing by now, tears streaming down her face in little rivers, eyes red as bloodstained water. It was clear that she knew her fate.

"Have mercy, please," she croaked. Mairon didn't back down; he seemed to ignore her words at first, choosing instead to slide his hands up the sides of her torso, starting at her hips. Slowly, oh so slowly. When they reached her waist, he squeezed. Melkor saw her wince from the pain of her skin being jabbed by the joints of the gauntlets while Mairon pressed himself firmly against her, his swollen cock grinding against her opening.

"You want us to let you go? Why, Tinúviel?"

"Because I'm...because..." Her words faltered, betraying her. 

"Exactly, you deserve this," he said , reading her thoughts. "You took my fortress, took my prisoner, came right up to my master's throne to do who knows what other damage, and you expect to be released?" By now he was hissing in her ear with anger.

"Besides, is this not what you wanted? I heard you offering yourself to Lord Melkor. Quite high aspirations you have, don't you think? To be the King's courtesan, your worthiness must be examined first.” Mairon's words dripped with malice.

"Morgoth is no king, but a sick monster!"

Her words infuriated him, and that fury raised his lust to new heights. Oh, how he wanted to unleash his full strength upon this elf. How he wanted to hear cries of anguish as he fueled the fire of his loins. Yet he had to control himself. This was all a performance for his master, a showcase of his skill at seduction. He couldn't disappoint. With a few words of magic, he entered her, neither gently nor with violence. The captive let out a surprised gasp of pleasure, then stilled, most likely realizing the implications of what she'd done.

"It's feels good, doesn't it? Judging by your behavior a few moments ago, one wonders what sort of horrors you were expecting. Did you think I would treat my lord's guest poorly? Nay, Lúthien, we are benevolent hosts."

* * *

So disappointed she was with herself. No. That was the wrong choice of word. Disgusted. Lúthien was disgusted by her body's treachery. What was the matter with her? Why did she enjoy being ravaged by this spawn of evil, in front of Morgoth no less?

In Nargothrond she'd been called a whore. For endless days, Fëanor's two sons made it quite clear that they deemed her nothing more than than a potential bedchamber thrall and child-bearer. Such statements had made her blood boil. She was as brave and mighty as either of them. But that wasn't true, was it? All the accursed Maia had to do was touch her skin, and now she hungered for his touch—any touch. Anything that could relieve this maddening physical need.

The table's edge bruised her from the force of Sauron’s thrusts. Yet all she could focus on was the delectable fullness she felt deep inside, where his erection filled her to the hilt, of the magical sensation produced when it brushed a certain spot inside of her. Rational thought started drifting away from her, but not before two words rang out clearly in her mind: depraved slut.

She opened her eyes when she felt a third hand stroking her hair. Though lust blurred her vision, she knew who it was. Two gold lights, with bulls-eyes at their centers. Melkor's eyes. He was squatting in front of her, face level with hers. His left hand continued to caress Lúthien's hair, but that was not where her gaze was drawn. He was holding a sharp knife that was placed just above her elbow. The soft leather of his glove was cupping her cheek, yet between her violation and the knife ready to plunge into her arm, Lúthien could not pay attention to it. Seeing that sharp object pointed at her filled her with terror, pleasure being forgotten for the moment.

* * *

"Why do you remain distressed, love?" he asked with mocking sweetness. "Is this still not enough?"  He grinned wickedly, glancing up at Mairon. The Maia looked about ready to come undone—eyes glazed, breath heavy, a thin sheen of sweat covering him. His skin glowed more than usual in the light of the torches. No wonder he was enjoying this so much, thought Melkor. Usually his Maia was on the other side of this equation. Watching the proceedings had set him on fire. His lust needed to be quenched.

Standing up, he made to unlace himself. This was unprecedented behavior, giving in to his base desires in his own throne room. Usually such activities were restricted to his personal chambers. Yet he was king of the entire world. Did that not permit him to set the rules?  

"Do you see how much I enjoy you presence in my halls? Now I must ask you to prove how much you relish being here," Melkor demanded of her as he drew out his impressive length.

He brought it to her lips, but by now Lúthien had her eyes tightly shut and was shaking her head frantically. Melkor slashed a shallow gash into her arm, eliciting an anguished cry.

"Oh dear, how sensitive to pain we are," he said with mock concern. "Mortals can handle even less pain than elves. Such delicate creatures... I wonder how long Beren could withstand the horrors of the torture room before he went mad?"

"Please don't hurt him. He hasn't done anything," she said pleadingly. And opened her mouth, licking him tentatively at first. That touch was as soothing as snow on burnt skin, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation on his skin. He needed more than just this, however.

"Open your eyes, and show some enthusiasm!" he commanded, rousing her to action. No doubt she realized what was at stake.

His lieutenant was lasting a long time, Melkor noticed. Of course, a Maia's body was capable of much self-control, but withholding his climax for this long was surely causing him pain. Lifting Mairon's face by the chin confirmed his instinct. This was no longer about pleasure or revenge. This was self-punishment. The Maia was exercising painful self-control to prove his worth to his master. As well he should. If he lost the strategic fortress of Tol Sirion to Thingol's daughter, the least he could do is abstain from release to torture her with shame. 

Melkor loved this impromptu performance Mairon had put on for him. He loved the way Mairon gazed worshipfully at him as if he was his only reason for continuing, as if he was the cause for an arousal so intense it was almost too painful to handle. He loved the way Lúthien herself was so close to coming undone, a delightful flush of pink creeping up on body, the sweat breaking out on her, running in tiny rivulets down her perfect bosom. Yet his main focus were her ministrations. She was now sucking his cock as if it were life itself. So, her resolve had finally broken down.

He pulled out from the delightful enclosure that was Lúthien's mouth. It was time to make an offer. He loved cruelty, and causing misery, but not at the expense of his own benefit. And oh, were there benefits to be had! If the wench was having this much fun while her mortal was in danger, how much better would she please him when doing it for the protection of all whom she loved?  

"If I let Beren go? If I had him removed from here and granted safe passage out of my stronghold, would the daughter of Melian like that?" he asked of her.

"What wouldn't I give for his safe return home? It's entirely my fault. I'm the reason he's in danger," she said with raw honesty.

"I will let him leave, and never pursue him. Not only that, I offer to never again strike against your people except in defense of Angband. I only require a simple payment from you," he said, sneering.

"Whatever I can offer you, you may have. I would do anything to protect my family—and Beren."

"Would you stay here, so I could enjoy your company, just like this? You were born so special, your form the most beautiful on Arda. It seems a pity to not use it properly.” He traced her lips with the tip of his cock. "And I want to hear you beg. Every time. I want to know how much you enjoy this."

Despite her senses being assaulted, despite what Mairon's actions were leading too, she still managed to think about the heavy implications of what such a promise would bring. Tears  welled in her eyes—which she promptly blinked away—at the shame of what she would do.

"I want to take in all of you, Master. I want to know I'm worthy of your touch. And I'd like you to spend yourself in me so I can drink it all... If you would, of course," she said, barely any hesitation audible in her voice.

"Well if you're so eager..." he said, chuckling, and shoved in without ceremony, grabbing fistfuls of Lúthien's hair and tilting her head to bury himself within her cavity. The heated enclosure of her throat was nearly maddening, but he kept his composure. The longer this lasted, the more torturous it would be for her. Despite the physical pleasure, despite Lúthien's surrender to her body's desires, he imagined she wanted to fade, like the full-blooded Eldar when they are violated.

Melkor's gaze rested on Mairon, who seemed to be in a world of his own now—high up in the stars. Pain, frustration, ecstasy, rage: whatever emotions he had felt before no longer existed. There was just the impending release, moving ever closer. He was enjoying this too much, Melkor decided; his intended punishment for surrendering Tol Sirion would have to be doubled.

Lúthien started gagging—he could feel it. These pathetic elves and their constant need for breath! Nevertheless, he withdrew a bit. She'd no longer be as fun dead. She inhaled deeply though her nose, while sliding her moist lips up and down his shaft, tongue moving along its underside. She was skilled, probably the most talented of harlots in Menegroth when not pretending to be a proper princess.

This thought enraged him: Melkor, he who arises in might, and his (formerly) trusted lieutenant enjoying a woman already tainted by others. With force nearly enough to break bones, he grabbed both her arms; knife clattering to the floor. Ramming himself to the hilt over and over, Lúthien's need for breath was disregarded. She could choke to death for all he cared. Melkor had a point to make, and nothing would stop him.

"You belong to me now, little she-elf. Do you understand? I do not care how many have spent themselves inside you. That all ends now."

It did not really matter whether she understood or not. Actions spoke louder than words. This was her initiation into his possession. One more thrust, to the root, and power burst from every inch of him as spurt after spurt of thick fluid erupted from his cockhead, to be greedily swallowed. Melkor stood still, gripping that silky, shiny hair as waves of release surged through him.

When he thoroughly spent all he had, Melkor withdrew slowly and made to retie his garments. Being free of his grasp now, Lúthien slowly tilted her head up and looked at him. Surprise was not something Melkor encountered often, but very occasionally. Usually it was unpleasant. But here, this shock was a gift! Eyes glazed over, lust the only emotion evident, body so accommodating to Mairon's merciless attentions. In a short span of time, she'd become as an animal. Victory, sweet victory.

Such was the power of Melkor, Lord of all Arda, Master of Angband. Even he could not have foretold this—Thingol’s kind, principled daughter forsaking all to achieve pleasure in his hands. If this was her now, in the coming seasons he knew she'd beg, beg for his attention. To be abused, mistreated, humiliated. Yes, he could have her crawling like a dog in no time, simply for his amusement.

A groan pulled him out of his reverie. His faithless Maia had the nerve to voice his ecstasy before the throne! That was another mark against him which Melkor filed away for later. Still, even after having experienced his release, he appreciated a good form when he saw one. And to say that about Mairon was an insulting understatement. Every inch of him was exquisite, though Melkor would never admit that aloud.

"I think it's time, Mairon. Show her she has lost, and just how far she's fallen from grace." 

* * *

Plunging deeply once more into the body in front of him, Mairon felt her come, tight muscles clenching and releasing around his length. It was all too much. Sweet release washed over him. Nothing existed except his plummet from a high peak, and his ecstasy. His yes rolled back as he spent all he had, coming for what seemed like ages, long after his captive had stilled. And then he stiffened. No sounds had she made. Her release had been a silent one.

This was supposed to be different. All this had been to prove to his master how strong his will was. How he could bring all to their knees to worship the darkness. And he'd failed. Even with his magically-induced pleasure, even with the flesh of a Maia in her, this she-elf had still managed to hold on to a shred of dignity.

How he hated that thought. How eagerly he would have taken her to his chambers, and ravished her over and over again, without magic, so that she might experience the full force and pain of his lust. Again and again until she screamed with despair to the farthest stars. Yet that couldn't be. Lúthien was his master's thrall now. And just as well that she was. The she-elf had caused him enough trouble.

Mairon untied her. She would be taken away. There was much to discuss now, with his return and the need for explaining why he had surrendered such a strategic spot so easily. The fact that it had been seasons ago now would not matter in his master's eyes. He stepped away and started rearranging his garments, feeling his master's eyes boring into him. Cold fear reentered his heart as he realized how much his master had lost because of his actions. Capturing a companion for his chambers was not nearly enough to alleviate those losses. He would pay, dearly.

Looking up after lacing his breeches, Mairon became confused. He noticed Lúthien had folded her dark cloak around herself. Higher and higher up she brought it, stretching her arms out over her head. The movement mesmerized him. Suddenly, that dark material was the most fascinating thing on all of Arda. The weave so intricate, the fabric's color so... soothing. His vision became blurry. The cloak concealed Lúthien from his sight, except for her lower legs. She was standing on tiptoes now.

Time slowed down. For the first time in all of his eternal existence, Mairon yawned. He couldn't help it. His eyes were closing. This was wrong, strange. Against the nature of a Maia. Yet it was beyond his care now. With slowly drooping eyelids, he watched as the fabric slipped so slowly through fair fingers. So delightful was its glacially slow descent, yet darkness and blissful unawareness overtook Mairon before the cloak ever hit the floor.


End file.
